Christmas Angels Heard on High
by stella8h8chang
Summary: Sometimes Snape hated Dumbledore, the patronizing preacher, an 'angel' who talked in metaphors about love and yet could not possibly understand. But he had forgotten that angels sometimes fall from heaven. References to SnapexLily & AlbusxGellert.


**Obligatory author notes:**

_All hail JKR, who created these characters so that I may borrow them and play with them for a short time. _

_This fic can be read as a one-shot, or as the epilogue of __Tempus. I was tossing up as to whether I ought to write an epilogue – I had simply too many disconnected ideas for one, and even I hated JKR's epilogue the first time around, so I thought I'd better leave it to the experts. Essentially I wrote this as an exercise, because I've had trouble keeping myself under five thousand words. So here we go – short and bittersweet. 1000. It doesn't exactly fit in with the Patronus scene later; I took some liberties, and for this I apologise. To my Grindeldore buddies, this is my apology for being a cheap shot and writing "JKR" in one of the Friday Fives. You'll know what I mean. So without any further ado…_

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**"Come to my office tonight, Severus, at eleven, and you shall not complain that I have no confidence in you…"  
(Albus Dumbledore, _Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows: The Prince's Tale)_**

Albus Dumbledore looked up from his watch with the twelve hands to the dark man in front of his desk. "Merry Christmas, Severus, you're late."

"I have been, as you say, 'keeping an eye' on the boy," said Severus Snape, with a curl of his lips.

"Come, Severus, I did not mean to chide you, I only wanted to emphasize to you that time is running out for you and me."

"You feel it, then?"

Dumbledore shut his eyes; there could be no doubt that he was in a great deal of pain. With his left hand – for his right was shrivelled and blackened, as if it had been charred to the bone – he reached out for a glass goblet of a smoky red liquid and took a long draught. "Six months," he said, now unhesitatingly.

Snape allowed Dumbledore a few moments to further compose himself, before prompting him. "So? Why is it that you have summoned me tonight? Of all nights?" Snape looked away, needing to conceal the swirling sensation in his stomach. Twenty years ago it had been, when he had stayed back at for Christmas at Hogwarts, the only home he had. _They had been sixteen, Lily almost seventeen. He in all black, his long matching hair combed out of his eyes, she in a flowing skirt and a green jacket that brought out her eyes…_

"This," said Dumbledore, indicating a photograph set in a sapphire-blue frame, which he turned around to face Snape, who picked it up off the desk.

"It's you," he said. "Many years ago. And…?"

"I am afraid Professor Binns is failing; if your History classes had been engaging enough, you and your brilliant brain would have recognised him at once. Although I can hardly blame him, since it was _my_ fault that the segment of his brain that bestows humour died when…"

Severus looked more closely at Dumbledore's blonde companion; the most striking feature about him was that one of his eyes was the blue of the frame, while his other was as green as…the memories flooding back to him._ Mistletoe, he had said. And __then __he had leaned over, tried to kiss her, but she had presented her cheek to him instead._

"So," said Dumbledore, bringing Snape back for the second time, "his name was Gellert. We met when he was sixteen, going on seventeen, and I was seventeen, going on eighteen."

"Gellert _Grindelwald?_" Snape stared at the picture of the teenage boy, brushing a golden curl from his forehead with one hand, and squeezing the young Dumbledore's shoulder with the other.

The real Dumbledore got up from his desk and stood beside Snape. "Yes, a little over ninety-five years ago. Remember," he said, smiling at Snape's bewildered expression, "all the men on the Chocolate Frog Cards were young once too."

"I don't understand," said Snape, wishing he could steal away, and curl up with several of Lily's letters, or if he was lucky, Dumbledore's Pensieve. He had no desire to attend the remnants of Slughorn's party, with its copious amounts of food and alcoholic beverages. Snape had little appetite at the best of times, and on this inauspicious anniversary he had none at all.

"Severus, I know _you_ think that _I don't understand_. And indeed, I owe you an explanation. It seems I have a rather bad habit of delaying the provision of information. I know you have been thinking, _he who speaks of love, but has never married, has never had __much__ love for his brother, barely knew the love of a parent, what does he know?_"

"That's not the way…" Snape felt hot and uncomfortable, but Dumbledore held up his hand.

"I don't blame you, Severus. I have been on this cruel earth so long – too long – that the stories of my youth barely exist in living memory. I apologise, all of these names will be alien to you – Cari was the first to go, and then Hesper and Harvey during Voldemort's first rise to power, and then Delta, and while I have yet to lose Elphias, there is much I could not tell him, because again, I rather foolishly did not want to hurt him. Then of course there is, Bathilda, who has all but lost her mind…"

"Bathilda Bagshot?"

"Ah, you _did _read your textbooks after all. I once lived next door to her. But all will be revealed, in good time."

"But how did you come to meet Grindelwald?"

"Essentially, he tumbled from the sky one day and descended upon my world, singing hymns from another realm."

Snape raised his eyebrows; Dumbledore was famous for taking his metaphors too far.

"The Angel of Music, we called him." A rare smile from Snape told Dumbledore that he had understood the reference. "He was more creative than Cari, more beautiful than Hesper, more loyal than Harvey – so I thought – more spontaneous and volatile than Delta…"

"You were in love with him," interrupted Snape.

"I _was_ in love with him," echoed Dumbledore in a low voice. Then he was cheerful again. "You only realised it now? Goodness, Severus, I am disappointed."

"Who else knows?"

"Who else who is alive who knows? Aberforth, of course. People are mistaken if they think we are fighting a Cold War. Elphias may have suspected, as may Minerva. You'd be pleased to know I never entrusted James though, although he tried to weasel out why I was celibate."

Snape couldn't help smiling. "And Bathilda. And dare I suggest…Binns?"

"Yes, but we can hardly count them as _alive_." Dumbledore chuckled softly as he strode to the cabinet where he kept his Pensieve, then touched the tip of his wand to his temple, and deposited a silvery liquid into the stone basin. "I know how you feel about Christmas, and Christmas presents, Severus. But may I beg your indulgence to give you one this year? Just one trip into the Pensieve. We can _both_ imagine it's summertime. It will be my last Christmas after all."

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_P.S. Because I tried to make it sound less soppy, I cut the "ah, we both know well that first love never forgets" bit. Also, I felt that belonged with the Patronus scene, perhaps if I write that up one day I'll include it. _

_P.P.S. Is Astor Piazzolla sexy or not? Go listen to "La Muerte del Angel". Or my personal favourite, "Oblivion"! _


End file.
